


Sight is a Gift

by earthlyruins



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blind Character, Blind!Jaskier, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, M/M, Mentioned Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Mostly Fluff, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, also self-hate ment, anyway this was supposed to be a drabble and it ended up at over 3k so yeehaw here we go, but it's VERY brief and not too explicit, oh uh brief self harm ment, yeehaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23827045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthlyruins/pseuds/earthlyruins
Summary: Jaskier is a bard, something well-known throughout the Continent and something well-known throughout… well, you, the readers.  He sings, he dances, he follows a very familiar witcher throughout the ends of the world.  The man named after a flower, the lark following a wolf: Jaskier.There’s one small, simple change, however, in this story of vibrant colors and emotions.Jaskier cannot see.And this is where his story begins.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 38
Kudos: 455





	Sight is a Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks! So this was originally supposed to just be a drabble for an anon on tumblr and got really large, so I decided to post it here! I hope you guys enjoy some fluffiness :) this took me about three days and there's no beta so forgive me if there are mistakes ksfdjhk kudos and comments are EXTREMELY appreciated, thank you. give a small writer some love sdhfsj

Jaskier is a bard, something well-known throughout the Continent and something well-known throughout… well, _you_ , the readers. He sings, he dances, he follows a very familiar witcher throughout the ends of the world. The man named after a flower, the lark following a wolf: Jaskier.

There’s one small, simple change, however, in this story of vibrant colors and emotions.

Jaskier cannot see.

And this is where his story begins.

\---

Jaskier is blind, born and raised without the ability to see the things many wonder over. He is submersed in darkness everyday of his life, unable to watch. Unable to _understand_ . For a very long time, Jaskier wondered _why_ . Why him? Why was he stuck with what his family called a _curse_? It was unfair to him.

And it was unfair.

When Jaskier was young, he got screamed at by his father for being worthless. He got teased relentlessly by his older sisters. He got pushed and shoved outside of his own home as well, kids older and younger than him taking his disability as a chance to jump him, to beat him, to harass him. His mother was the only person he trusted, the only person who protected him from the chaos of it all.

Then she died, and Jaskier had no one.

No one but himself.

So, he taught himself from the ground up. He taught himself the layout of his own home until it was engraved in his brain. He listened to his family’s schedule, and learned how to disappear from them when he was just a step away. He taught himself how to track just by feeling, and he taught himself how to learn the basics of fighting from where the soldiers trained. He trained his senses.

Yes, Jaskier was blind in one sense, but he could see far better than most.

An older passerby found him one afternoon, sitting. Known to no one but himself (and maybe the growly witcher beside him), he was listening. Just listening. The passerby had looked him up and down, flinched at the witcher, and by some miracle, gave Jaskier his fluffy dog.

“I’m getting too old for her,” he had murmured. “You look like you could give her a good home.”

He stared up at him with wide eyes. Jaskier could not see, but he knew when someone was being kind. “Thank you,” he whispered, and he immediately put his hands on to the dog. She was large, very much so, and she seemed quite attentive. A good listener.

He had dogs in the past, but none of them seemed so… _well-taught_.

The witcher scoffed from next to him as the man stumbled away. “I think,” he drawled, “that that man just gave you a wolf. Not a dog.” 

The younger boy rolled his eyes. “Shush, Lambert,” he said. “She hasn’t attacked anyone, and that’s good enough for me.”

“Whatever you say, kid.”

Some time later, Jaskier decided on the name of Winter. From what he could pick up from others, the wolf was as white as freshly fallen snow with brown spots popping up here and there. Sharp green eyes that many would describe as the color of grass.

Winter seemed like a good name. Especially since winter is never _really_ perfectly white.

Soon, autumn falls with winter close behind. The leaves fell around him, covering him, and he watches as kids jump and play in the light and dark. He doesn’t participate. He knows he’ll only get teased and hurt. Instead, Jaskier listens like he does most other days.

Then… he hears it.

 _Music_.

And that’s when Jaskier’s life changes forever.

He goes to Oxenfurt, learns to play a variety of instruments - the lute becoming his favorite, and gets the chance to learn how to read. His family never wanted him to learn such an activity, for they had always thought that since he was blind, he was stupid.

He was quite the opposite.

Two years later, Jaskier is out on the road, Winter right at his heels. He sings loud and brash, howling to anyone who would listen that he is _human_ and that he is _capable_. Many don’t listen, instead throwing bread or vegetables at him to shut him up. Jaskier keeps on singing anyhow, for it is free food and he is not an idiot. Innkeepers sometimes give him more food than he asks for when he has the coin, pitying him.

The new bard takes it with a smile. Nothing more.

He moves on, tavern to tavern, inn to inn, city to city. He meets people along the way, friends, he supposes. A fellow bard named Priscilla, a forest nymph named Madeleine, a vampire named Regis, and a Nilfgaardian named Cahir. He also runs into Lambert again, and even another wolf witcher named Eskel. It makes him happy to have this little ragged gang of his. Priscilla, Madeleine, Regis, Cahir, Lambert, Eskel -

And, eventually -

Geralt of Rivia.

Jaskier meets him in a place named Posada. Cheese and bread gets thrown at him as he sings about abortion. Winter happily lapped up the food he didn’t take while he sighed, crouched. Not his… best piece, he’d admit. But all was worth it to hear whispers of a brooding figure hunched in the corner. And with his interest piqued, Jaskier strolled over.

“I love… how you just sit in the corner and brood.”

Yikes, okay.

He shifted as he felt those supposedly golden eyes rake over his body. There’s a small grunt before a gruff voice responded with, “You can’t even see me.” 

That took Jaskier by surprise, and he had barked out a laugh before sliding into the seat across from the man.

“No,” he whispered in mock surprise, “I would’ve _never_ guessed.”

And when he heard that lovely laugh of the man’s, Jaskier decided right then and there that he would follow this man to the ends of the earth.

That’s where his _real_ story begins. Not from the beginning, but now.

\--- 

Jaskier hums softly, tossing the flayed bit of rabbit over to Winter. She snatches it out of the air, and Geralt snorts in amusement. The bard grins before stuffing a chunk of cheese in his mouth. “L’ke tha?” he asks, words slurred as he chews his food.

“I thought you were a man of culture,” Geralt says with a small huff, “Mr. Speaking-With-His-Mouth-Full.”

“Was that a _joke_ ?” He gasps, swallowing his food before saying so. Can’t prove the witcher right, now can he? That would just give the man a point. “Geralt of Rivia - The White Wolf - making a _joke_? In this day and age? This is something that needs to be documented--”

Geralt shoves a piece of bread in his mouth, and Jaskier splutters.

“Chew, swallow, and quit talking.”

“K’nky.”

“ _Jaskier_.” 

He giggles quietly, tossing another piece of rabbit to Winter. It was rare, nights like this, where Geralt and Jaskier could just peacefully camp out and eat. Usually, there was a monster contract or they were forced into an inn because of shitty weather. Or, townsfolk would throw them out or stone them enough that they left.

(Jaskier didn’t leave until he pelted a good few of them in the head.)

The fire crackles in front of them, making Jaskier jump just the slightest. Geralt chuckles and he throws a piece of bread at him - which he catches. Easily.

Bastard.

Roach nickers from beside him, nibbling the grass below. Winter gives a quiet bark in response, making Jaskier hum. Soft fur spreads underneath his nimble fingers, laying pleasantly flat when he places his hand fully down. He lifts his hand, waiting for the fur to fluff up once more before placing it back down. He repeats the motion a couple more times, enjoying the softness on his skin.

The fire crackles again, and Jaskier decides that only having his hand pet the fur wasn’t enough. So, he promptly falls forward and buries his face into Winter’s flank. There’s a small huff from the wolf, and a choking noise coming from the witcher next to him.

“I can’t tell if you’re laughing or actually dying,” he mutters.

“I’m not sure either,” Geralt says, voice edged with amusement. “I was _eating_ and then you just _fell over_ \- I- what is the appropriate response to seeing someone do that?” 

A giggle escapes his lips, body shaking slightly. “I dunno,” he says. “What _is_ the appropriate response? You may die without it.” Geralt shoves his back lightly with a quiet laugh. Neither of them realize how Jaskier almost immediately leans into it.

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “Just maybe.”

Jaskier stays where he lays, curling up around Winter like he’s done a thousand times before. He vaguely registers Geralt spreading out the bedrolls next to each other. The bard grumbles as he tugs him over, sleepiness suddenly grasping at him like a deathwish.

He snuggles deep into the roll, blinking sleepily as a different darkness takes a hold of him.

“Goodnight,” Geralt says, and Jaskier sleeps.

Jaskier cannot see, so he wakes to the sun shining on his face, the birds singing loud and clear in the trees, and Winter snoring right next to his ear. There’s also a body radiating warmth from next to him. _Geralt_ , his mind helpfully supplies. His witcher.

The bard brings his hand up to the man, tracing his features with his fingers. He can feel his eyes flutter open, he can feel him lean into his touch. Jaskier laughs breathily. Oh how Geralt was so prettily _open_ in the mornings.

What he would give to see his face.

“Geralt,” he murmurs, “what do you look like?”

He rumbles, “You’ve asked this question before, Jaskier.” And _oh_ , Jaskier will never truly get used to hearing his name roll off of Geralt’s tongue. It’s so easy to him; he finds himself wanting to hear it again and again and again. Time after time, day after day, night after night.

Jaskier clears his throat, mostly to gather his thoughts and to shoo away the… other ones. “I know, but a person without sight loses image after a while.” He continues to trace the witcher’s face, thumbs flitting over the divit of Geralt’s jaw, fingers sliding over smooth skin.

And Geralt tells him. Again and again, over and over. He tells him of the color of his hair as Jaskier tangles his fingers in it, he tells him about his eyes as Jaskier thumbs each one over, he tells him… well of _him_. When Jaskier asked for this the first time, his voice was filled with self-hatred, and now it’s just amused. Amused and fond.

They’ve come so far since the darkness that consumed each of them. A long way since the fear, the self-hatred, the horrible monstrosities they called themselves. So much as happened since then. Good, bad, true, false. Greater and lesser. Rough and soft.

It makes Jaskier smile at how far each of them have come.

He remembers the hatred he threw upon himself for not being able to see. Because he was consumed in darkness every damn day and that made him _different_ , it made him supposedly _lesser_ to everyone. For a long while, he thought Geralt saw him just as everyone else did. As a problem.

He remembers Geralt clawing at his skin, screaming into the woodlands because of all of the pent up _hurt_ he had still running through his veins. He remembers the dark thoughts Geralt confessed to him, remembers the lines running up and down the man’s arms. A monster, Geralt called himself.

Jaskier remembers two broken people healing each other.

Him, kissing and putting salve over Geralt’s scars, whispering compliments, showing him that he is not the monster people make him out to be. Geralt, saying what he can to help Jaskier, rubbing his back up and done with scented oils, taking care of him when he cannot.

And now, here they are, two people healing in each other’s company.

“Satisfied, lark?” Geralt asks quietly. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

“I suppose.”

Neither of them move. Warm smiles, sweet features, quiet secrets. They know, they both know, but neither of them bring it to light.

Jaskier sits in darkness, but he is no longer alone there.

\--- 

Geralt meets Yennefer, and Jaskier is by himself once more.

The witcher is encaptured by the sorceress, watching and wanting. It burns him, a fire kindling dark and low in his gut. It wasn’t the pleasant type, no. It was something dark. He’s so weak, so weak for Geralt of Rivia, and he is _wanting_. Wanting until he is needing.

Then Geralt screams at Jaskier on the mountain top, voice filled with pain and anger, and Jaskier, only seeing darkness, wants to scream. He’s not angry at Geralt, for the witcher was only hurt, but he _was_ frustrated. He was so very frustrated. He’s followed after this man for _years_ , he’s watched, he’s waited, he’s _loved_ \--

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Well, he guesses that explains why his heart is feeling like it’s splitting in two.

Jaskier stares into blackness like all his life, but this time, this time he feels so very _alone_. Geralt is not with him any longer, Yennefer is probably long gone, Borch has passed with a simple ‘goodbye’, and well. There’s no one really left for him to go to, now is there?

Except for Winter.

She’ll always stay with him.

The bard takes a deep breath, hand laid on the wolf, and goes to leave. He doesn’t catch how Geralt smacks himself on the head and how he runs, oh how he _runs_. He doesn’t hear the sharp patting of boots on gravel. He’s too lost in his own thoughts.

Nothing registers until Geralt wraps his arms around him, tight and sure.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

“You were in pain. It’s alright - forgiven the moment it happened, honestly.”

“That doesn’t relieve me of what I said.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I’ll make it up to you, every single day.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, yes I do.”

And that was that.

\---

Geralt stays true to his word, keeping close to Jaskier and following him instead of leading. Jaskier will wake up to varieties of gifts; clothes, food, art, and many things similar to it. He tries to tell the witcher to stop, that he’s okay without the gift, but Geralt, the utter imbecile, keeps giving him wonderful things and making his heart beat, beat, and beat.

He also talks to him just like before.

He explains the thing with Yennefer, how she was something attainable when he couldn’t have who he truly wanted. A flower, a wonder, a want.

Someone he… well, loves.

It’s back to normal then. The love, the want, the need, the neverending heartbreak that Jaskier feels. It’s back to that same routine, Jaskier being able to touch but not _touch_ , Jaskier being able to have but not _have_. He doesn’t get what he truly desires, what he truly wants.

But he settles.

Jaskier is no longer alone in the darkness anymore. He is with someone he loves, he is with his best friend, he is with his muse, he is with Geralt of Rivia. And that? That’s okay with him. Even if he’s only allowed to stand next to his best friend and watch - well, not _watch_ , but… yeah - him fall in love with someone else. Even if he’s not allowed anything but a small touch.

As long as he’s with _him_ , Jaskier will be okay.

Even if it hurts. Even if it tears him to pieces. Jaskier will be okay.

“ _Jaskier_.” 

He blinks, which really doesn’t do much. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “Lost in thought, I suppose.” He feels his lips quirk in a familiar, fake smile that almost instantly falls. Turning his head away from the witcher, Jaskier sighs. “What were you sayi---Geralt?”

Calloused fingers swipe across the bard’s cheeks. “You’re crying,” Geralt murmurs. They swipe again, this time getting rid of a fallen tear. Jaskier becomes aware of his shaking body, his scratched throat, his huddled form. “Jaskier,” he whispers, and _gods_. He cries harder.

Too much, too little.

He wants, wants, wants until it becomes so much more. Until it becomes a _need_ . He _needs_ Geralt, needs to show him how much he loves him, needs to _tell him_ . The words practically _boil_ in his chest, twisting and turning and threatening to spill from his lips.

Jaskier keeps them shut.

Geralt doesn’t love him, no, not in the way he wants. And he never will. He loves Yennefer, he wants Yennefer, he doesn’t---

“Stop thinking, Jaskier,” Geralt says softly.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Geralt murmurs.

“I’m here,” Geralt whispers.

So, Jaskier lets those sharp words that had dug into his soul out. They tumble, they spill, they bleed out into the world, true and so very _complete_. Slowly, the world of his changes underneath his fingertips, and the weight of the fucking world lifts from his shoulders. It finally lifts, it finally doesn’t hold him down like it did, it keeps him alive and it keeps him going. He keeps talking until his breath leaves his lungs.

He’s started, and he doesn’t think he can stop.

So, Jaskier does what he’s best at. He talks. He talks about everything, about how he slowly fell in love with the witcher. With his gruffness and dry, sassy humor, with his soft spot for children and helping anyone he could, with his secret love for color and fashion. With all of his insecurities, with his fiery passion for monsters and monster lore, with his so many deep, sharp emotions.

With _him_.

He tells him of how even though Jaskier couldn’t see, he always, _always_ thought Geralt of beautiful and lovely. Perfect in every sense of the word. He tells him of how he wants to see him and that sometimes it _kills_ him to not see.

Jaskier tells him of how Geralt makes him feel human, not a monster, not weak, not a _burden_ like everyone else made him seem like. How he made the bard feel completely and utterly _alive_ for the first time in _years_. The stories Geralt told, the way he spoke. Everything.

All the way, Geralt remains quiet, holding the bard as if he were his lifeline. Arms encaptures his body, and Geralt holds. He holds him, face dug into the crook of Jaskier’s collarbone.

And when Jaskier finishes, he _laughs_.

It’s such a soft noise that Jaskier barely hears it, but he can feel Geralt’s chest rumble. He wants to smile, but for _fucks_ sake, he also wants to scream. Please, _please_ tell him that Geralt wasn’t laughing at his feelings. Tell him that Geralt was only chuckling because he has a horrible sense of humor.

But then, Geralt murmurs, “You’re an idiot, lark.”

“Ohoho, ex _cuse_ me? I bare my soul to you, and you call me a fucking _idiot_ , you _bastard_!” He’s shaking now, trembling, really.

“Calm down,” the witcher says. “I’m only teasing.” He feels the back of his head being nuzzled; he breathes in another shaky breath before slightly relaxing against Geralt’s frame. “There you are,” he whispers. “Jaskier, you do realize that those little gifts I gave you were _courting_ gifts?”

“What.”

Geralt chuckles. “I was trying to court you,” he says simply. “Have been for a while, but you never picked up on them. Thought you just weren’t interested.” 

“ _What_.”

A quiet sigh escapes the witcher. “I love you, Jaskier. And I’d really _really_ like to kiss you.”

“Oh,” says Jaskier. He’s stopped shaking, his eyes stopped spilling their tears. “Well, that’s quite simple. You should’ve said so sooner.” His breath catches at the growl Geralt makes from behind him. He tries to wiggle out of the man’s grasp, but thanks to those iron rods of arms, he doesn’t move.

“ _Jaskier_ ,” he growls.

“Yes?” he gasps.

Geralt twists him around, and Jaskier eagerly straddles the man’s hips. “You’re beautiful,” Geralt says. “I thought you should know.”

Jaskier squirms, feeling Geralt’s molten gaze on him. “I,” he breathes sharply, “am going to kiss you _right now_ or else I might literally implode. Good? Good.” And without another thought in his mind, Jaskier locks his lips to Geralt’s, gasping at the initial touch.

 _Oh_ , was it so much better than he _imagined_.

Their lips slide together with ease: Jaskier’s soft and pliant, Geralt’s rough and chapped. He tastes like the earth, Jaskier thinks deliriously, the earth and the water and the sun. He tastes like _life_ . And Jaskier wants, oh he _needs_ , to _live_. Live with the life given.

Geralt inhales softly, bringing rough hands to cup Jaskier’s face, turning the kiss deeper. “Dandelions and buttercups,” Geralt says after pulling away for a moment. “You smell like dandelions and buttercups. You smell like _home_.” Jaskier laughs, giddy.

“You too, witcher,” he murmurs. “You too.”

They gravitate towards each other once more, the deep kiss deepening even further. Jaskier hums, parting his lips as an invitation which Geralt gladly takes. His tongue dives into Jaskier’s mouth, skilled and dancing while Jaskier gives back just as good as he gets. Geralt groans quietly, and Jaskier dives deeper.

They pull away, panting quietly.

“I love you,” Geralt whispers as if it's a secret to be shared.

“I love you too,” Jaskier says, saying loud and clear to share to the world.

Geralt kisses him again, and as Jaskier stares up into that all familiar darkness,

Jaskier _sees_.

**Author's Note:**

> okay buckos first off, a small disclaimer: jaskier does NOT magically gain sight at the end of this bc of true love's kiss or whatever, it's just a metaphor. I really hate it when folks just heal a person's disability bc of magic or something since it erases the ability for people like us to be seen. So uh, yeah, please, please understand this.
> 
> secondly, thank you to everyone being so kind and taking the time to read this. Again, kudos and comments are extremely appreciated.


End file.
